The Faithful Heart (5 page)

 

 

He sat so quietly on his horse, gazing out at the landscape, taking
it all in yet seeing nothing, that finally Morgana was moved to say
gently, “I’m sure this is hard for you, Ruairc, and I'm sorry you
had to come all this way for me. You could have sent one of the
servants. There was no need to put yourself to such trouble.And I
know how worried you are. You always loved my father. You being a
man, you were far closer to him than I ever was.”

 

 

“It was no trouble to come, I assure you, and as you say, I love
Morgan. I'm glad to be of service to his family,” Ruairc said
tonelessly.

 

 

As he rode further along down the track, he continued to try to
piece together his aunt’s odd behavior. He felt a chill inside that
had naught to do with the arctic weather, for he knew his aunt had
always possessed the gift of second sight. She had warned Ruairc not
to come back. Was Morgana in so much danger that she could be
waylaid on the road and kidnapped or killed?

 

 

It was a possibility he was forced to recognise, if his assumptions
about the poisoning of Morgan Maguire were correct.

 

 

Ruairc appeared to be quiet and pensive to Morgana, but all the
while he was looking behind every tree and shrub for signs of an
ambush.

 

 

Or perhaps his aunt had meant that Morgana would not be going back
to take her vows in a fortnight? That Morgan would die, and she
would become heir?

 

 

“I said, Ruairc, for the third time, you haven’t told me what's
wrong with Father. Perhaps it's a simple chill, and you are just
making a fuss over nothing?”

 

 

Morgana’s unusually impatient tone intruded upon his thoughts.
Despite her inward warnings to be wary of her former fiance's ample
charms, she had grown piqued at having been so completely ignored
for so many miles.

 

 

Ruairc grabbed her bridle angrily, forcing the horse to a
standstill.

 

 

“I know you mistrust me, but this is not a ploy on my part to see
you. Nor is your father suffering from a simple chill,” Ruairc
growled. “I was hoping to avoid telling you this, but you have asked
for the truth, and that I have always told you.Morgana, I am certain
someone has been trying to poison him for the last few weeks. In
fact, the assassin very nearly succeeded in killing him a fortnight
ago.”

 

 

Morgana’s eyes widened, and she soothed her horse as she felt him
grow restless under Ruairc’s restraint.

 

 

“Shall we get down and discuss this matter further?” she offered,
sufficiently chastened by Ruairc’s grim revelations.

 

 

“I’d just as soon get back straight away, if it’s all the same to
you,” Ruairc replied quickly, scanning the trees expertly for any
sign of the enemy.

 

 

Morgana nodded, and rode her mount closer to Ruairc's so they could
talk more easily. “Tell me what’s been happening, Ruairc,” she
pleaded, risking using his name gently for the first time.

 

 

Despite the two year separation, she could still read him like a
book. She knew why he was so anxious to get back. She knew now as
well that Ruairc was not trying to trick her. Nor was he
exaggerating the seriousness of the situation.

 

 

“I was only summoned to Lisleavan last week, and arrived the night
before last, so I know little other than what your father told me,
and what I’ve seen with my own eyes. I know from the suspicious
looks you’ve been casting in my direction that you don’t trust me.
But I swear to you, I would never wish any harm upon your father or
you. Someone has been trying to poison him. He thought he’d fooled
them, by preparing food for himself with his own hands, but he's
fallen ill again, and is getting weaker by the minute.

 

 

“I’m not going to embarrass us both by begging for you to see the
truth about me after two long years. I wouldn’t waste my breath. I
only hope you're grown up enough now to realise the difference
between friend and foe.”

 

 

“Ruairc, I...”

 

 

“There is no time to argue now,
a stor
. We must press on.
I’d rather not be out after nightfall.”

 

 

Ruairc galloped on ahead of her, so that Morgana had little choice
but to spur her horse or be left far behind. But her heart gave a
little leap which had nothing to do with the brisk pace of her
mount. He had called her
a stor
, beloved, just as he had
always done. He still cared, even after all she had said and done!
Her stomach lurched as she watched him get further and further away
from her.

 

 

“Ruairc! Ruairc! Wait for me!”

 

 

“I always have, Morgana, and I always will,” Ruairc called over his
shoulder, his face like granite.

 

 

Morgana blushed furiously, and rode on ahead to conceal her
confusion from him. Ruairc was right, of course. Nothing had changed
in the past two years. He had done nothing to prove his innocence
with regard to the murder of her brother. But then why was she so
pleased to see him?

 

 

Because you still love him, no matter what he’s done,
a
treacherous little voice whispered inside her head. Every time
Morgana looked at Ruairc, touched him, her knees went weak. It took
every bit of her enormous willpower to prevent herself from
succumbing to her tumultuous longings.

 

 

As she rode on, she deliberately tortured herself with the picture
of her brother’s mutilated body which remained etched in her brain
even after all that time in order to stir up a hatred for Ruairc she
often didn’t really feel.

 

 

And yet, her religious training told her she must not hate or seek
revenge, but turn the other cheek. Why did seeing Ruairc always make
her utterly confused about everything?

 

 

She found herself going over the same agonising questions in a much
more rational frame of mind than ever before. What could ever have
provoked Ruairc to murder Conor so foully? As the second son of the
chief of the MacMahons, he had had a fair sized property of his own,
so could gain have been the sole motive? Surely if he had wanted the
Maguire chieftainship, he should have married her first, and
then
killed Conor.

 

 

Had there been a personal or family insult? Worse still, had Conor
done something to harm the Maguire clan, and Ruairc had discovered
it and taken matters into his own hands?

 

 

Certainly he had not gained anything from the death, at least not
immediately. For though Ruairc had not been formally charged, he had
been sent packing by the clan, who had united to ostracise him. Then
his greedy brothers Dermot and Brendan had used the opportunity to
disgrace him in the eyes of the MacMahons and take all his lands and
property for themselves.

 

 

Yet seemingly he had prospered in the past two years, for his riding
clothes were rich, and his mount fine enough for a king’s stables,
Morgana observed, as she caught up to him.

 

 

Once again, Ruairc detected her assessing look, and smiled bitterly.
“I've been working for the Earl of Kildare in Dublin these last two
years, and have prospered in trade and favors at the English-run
court. By favours I mean I have saved the Earl’s life and his son’s
on several occasions, and thus he has given me material reward.

 

 

"His son is very fond of good clothes. In fact,they call him Silken
Thomas. I wear this finery, ride this horse, only as a tribute to
the generosity of my patron, not as a sign of wealth. I’ll show you
the scars I got in exchange for all this frippery if you like.”

 

 

Morgana coloured again, but remained silent, digesting all Ruairc
had told her. If he had not been after money and wealth, what could
he possibly have stood to gain by killing Conor, apart from she
herself as a bride?

 

 

Had that been the cause? Had Ruairc been so incensed at her father’s
unjust treatment of her for so many years that he had unfairly
blamed Conor for being the apple of his father’s eye?

 

 

She looked over at her companion wistfully. No. He was always an
advocate of justice and a great warrior, but he was no cold-blooded
killer.

 

 

And Ruairc and Morgan had been as close as could be considering they
were not of one family. Moreover, Ruairc had known full well that
she had idolised her elder brother. If anyone was to have been got
rid of, it would have been her half-sister Aofa!

 

 

Morgana pushed that thought to one side as uncharitable. It wasn’t
the girl’s fault she was stupid and simpering, weak of character,
squeamish at the sight of blood or illness, or that she had had a
lioness for a mother.

 

 

No, Conor was dead, and the fact remained that his murderer had gone
unpunished. Despite two years of thinking she hated Ruairc, one
glimpse of him filled her with all the old yearnings to be one flesh
with him.

 

 

But things had changed. She had changed. Morgana had spent the past
two years of her novitiate in peace and harmony with the world, and
was unwilling to revert back to her former wild state. She was a
woman now, eighteen, and had to let reason rather than impulse be
her guide.

 

 

Someone had killed her brother. According to Ruairc, someone was now
trying to poison her father. Could they be one and the same person?
If so, that left out Ruairc, for he had been far away in Dublin.
Patrick and Finn were also innocent, for they had been away trading
on the high seas at the time her brother had been killed, and they
were two such solid, reliable young men, the thought of them hiring
anyone else to do it was impossible.

 

 

Who would gain? Who
had
gained from Conor’s death? As
Morgana rode the rest of the way home, no satisfactory answer
presented itself. But she needed to find one soon, before it was too
late.

 

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

 

All thoughts of the past and Conor's death fled when Morgana was
confronted by the sight of her beloved castle, and her dying father.
The shock would have felled a stronger woman. As it was, Morgana was
grateful for Ruairc's strong presence, willing to lend support but
not interfere.

 

 

The castle and surrounds looked woefully neglected, and once inside
her former home, Morgana saw that the rooms were unswept, and dark
in the growing twilight, with no candles to light the way.

 

 

Ruairc led her to a tiny sickroom, where her father lay on the bed,
a gaunt skeleton who stretched one bony claw towards her in
supplication, while clutching Ruairc’s arm with the other hand.

 

 

“My God, Father! Who has done this to you!” Morgana wept as she
crossed herself, all past anger forgotten at the sight of the
wretched man’s extreme suffering.

 

 

“Here, Morgan, Aunt Agatha has sent you some food and cordials. Try
to eat and drink a little,” Ruairc urged softly.

 

 

Morgana eyed Ruairc suspiciously, but her father took the small
bundle greedily, and put one of the small coloured bottles to his
parched lips.

 

 

Though he could manage only a little before a pang halted him, he
ate hungrily. When he was finished, he lay back exhausted, and told
Morgana to wrap up the food and leave it under the bed.

 

 

“Make sure, Morgana, you are given the keys to the household. You
must take every single one, and I want all of my chambers locked,
with a guard posted at every door. No one but you and Ruairc have
permission to enter either those rooms or this room,” Morgan Maguire
commanded.

 

 

“Patrick and Finn are coming,” Ruairc reminded him quietly. "They'll
be home from their trade runs soon."

 

 

“Ah yes, send them to me as soon as they arrive, Ruairc, but no one
else. Promise me, son, you will see to this!” the old man begged,
becoming more and more agitated.

 

 

“I promise, Father.All shall be as you wish. Rest now,” Ruairc
soothed, brushing the few remaining silver hairs on the old man’s
head away from his brow, and pulling up the coverlet over his bony
chest.

 

 

Morgan took Ruairc’s hand in his own for a few moments, and then the
younger man stooped to kiss his foster father. Ruairc gave Morgana a
brief look which she could not interpret, and left the room.

 

 

Once they were alone, Morgana gasped, “Oh, Father, what has been
happening here? Why did you not send for me sooner?”

 

 

“Morgana, my child, trust no one but Ruairc, and your cousins when
they arrive. Do you understand me! No one!” Morgan commanded
abruptly.

 

 

“Sush, Father, don’t upset yourself. I promise, but you must tell me
what is wrong here.”

 

 

“A month ago, I fell ill.The cooks were bribed to poison me, though
they had no notion of who paid them. A man in a cloak was all they
managed to reveal, before they were murdered in the dungeon. Their
throats were slit. I tried to send for you several times, but
obviously the messages never got through.”

 

 

“I never received any word,” Morgana said, and shook her head sadly.
"I would have come at once if only I had known."

 

 

“I thought perhaps you had already taken your vows, were no longer
part of the clan.”

 

 

“Really, Father, surely you must know that if I had received word of
you illness, nothing would have stopped me, not even my vows!”